


All or Nothing

by lavieboheme0919



Category: Lesser Gods: A Podcast, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Characters related in Canon are not related here, Consent Issues, Crossover, Drug Abuse, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Miscarriage, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, References to Drugs, References to Mpreg, Rimming, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, intimacy issues, references to alcoholism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 05:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15381801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavieboheme0919/pseuds/lavieboheme0919
Summary: AU Inspired by the podcast Lesser Gods200 years in the future, humans can't reproduce. The government has stepped in to try and end the crisis. The future of humanity falls on the final 8 humans ever made and Stiles is having a hard time balancing the duty he has to his species with the emotional toll this is taking.***Please read Chapter notes as they will contain important information to keep in mind as you continue through the story.***





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The podcast this is based on is kind of dark and sexy, but listening to it is not required to understand what's happening, though it'll definitely help. Characters who share a blood relationship in the Canon will not be considered related in this story, so there will not be any need for incest tags if that is a squick or trigger for you.

Stiles

Welcome to the end of the fucking world.

Derek is always saying I should use fewer "f bombs." Well, he doesn't so much  _say_  it as  _growl_  it. I'd respond with "you aren't the boss of me" but… well, he sort of is. He's my chaperone. When you're one of the youngest people on earth… but you're 17, the government becomes very invested in keeping you safe. Our mental stability seems like less of a priority for them. It turns out that nobody can fuck kids up better than good old-fashioned bureaucracy.

You see, for the last nearly 200 years, nobody—and I mean  _nobody_ —has been able to procreate the old fashioned way. Some people think it's got something to do with the super virus that went around and killed about a third of the population. Other people think it's one big government conspiracy. I fall somewhere in-between.

When it became abundantly clear that the future of the species was literally at risk, the government acted. They used donors for genetic material, then they realized that it's much more expedient to take instead of asking. A lot of good it did them.

Me and my gen are the last of the material they were able to take. Like all the gens before us since this crisis began, we're expected to try copulating with one another in an attempt to pull off a miracle and save the human race. The pressure has just been amped up by like a million, though, because unlike the previous generations, if we fail… that's it. Humanity is done for. My gen will watch everyone around us grow old and die before we, ourselves are old… the eight of us each fucked up in our own special way.

Figuring they had little else to lose, they started tampering with genes a few gens back. They made it so that it would be theoretically possible for the males to conceive, too. That way they could try every possible permutation of us to hopefully end up with a success or two. It just makes us less easy around one another. It's hard to maintain friendships when you've had sex with literally every single person you grew up with while teams of scientists and doctors watch from behind two-way mirrors.

Scott's the earnest one, but he's naïve to the point of fault. He's viewed as the "leader" though nobody elected him. Isaac's the vulnerable one and he's particularly fond of anxiety meds… especially ones he's not prescribed. I'd refer to Jackson as a "meat head" but that would be insulting to meat. He's ridiculously handsome, which is good… because his personality is total shit. Lydia's the smart one, but she's insecure and constantly seeking approval. I don't know why, though. She's beautiful. She also doesn't seem to have figured out that Jackson's into dudes… so the inevitable train wreck of her constantly throwing herself at him is both fun and sad to watch. Allison is the strong, silent type, but she drinks. A lot. Malia is the definition of socially awkward and, honestly, kind of a bitch.

Me? I'm the funny one, obviously.

I'm hanging upside down off my bed as I play a video game. Certainly the perspective is off, but I enjoy the challenge. I'm so engrossed in beating my record time that I don't notice Derek standing in the doorway until he clears his throat. I startle and lose the level I'd been working on so diligently.

"From this angle, it looks like you're smiling in a very odd way," I tell him.

He rolls his eyes as taps his watch. "Did you forget?"

"Forget what?"

"The gala dinner. We need to be there in 45 minutes."

I wave him off. "Then I've got another 30 minutes until I need to get ready." I return to my game, satisfied with the newly revised schedule that had been worked out.

Derek, apparently, is not so satisfied since his reaction is to rip the power cord from the wall. "Get showered, get dressed, and meet me in the living room in 10 minutes," he orders.

I fight the urge to throw the controller at him, only because I know he'd probably catch it mid-air and throw it right back at me harder and more painfully than I could. I sigh and force myself up and into the bathroom. The shower takes only a few moments to heat up and I slip off my clothes.

I catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror and bite my inner lip, a nervous habit that formed when I was a child. I definitely have body issues, but I know I shouldn't. I just compare myself to Derek and the other guys of my gen, who are more muscular. I've always been scrawny and slim. I've tried bulking up but I just can't for whatever reason. When I'm standing next to the other guys I always feel like a bean pole… especially during our sessions in the lab. What I lack in physical strength and brawn, I make up for in brains and sarcasm, though.

I tear my eyes away from my reflection and walk into the large shower. When I say large, I mean it's fucking massive. You can easily fit five people into it… which I may or may not know from experience.

Time seems to stand still in the shower. I feel the hot water raining down on me, smell the captivating scents of the shampoo and soaps and completely forget that I've got a deadline Derek set. Derek doesn't hesitate to remind me, however, appearing in the bathroom to advise me to "Hurry the fuck up."

"I'm almost done…" I grumble.

"No, you're done now," he says, pulling out a tablet-like device from his pocket. He taps on it a few times and suddenly the water in my shower runs ice cold. I scramble to turn it off, already shivering.

"Really?" I demand petulantly. I refuse to step out of the shower while he's there. I like that there's at least one person in my life who hasn't seen me naked and I want to keep it that way.

"Really," is Derek's simple reply. "Dry off and get dressed. Now. We're late."

I know this portrayal of Derek isn't putting him in the most favorable of lights, but he really is very good at his job… which is to keep me safe, get me where I need to be when I need to be there, and honestly, he's been like a parent to me since he was first assigned… just not a particularly warm one. He has his moments, though.

A week after the ceremony when he was assigned to me, I had been acting out a bit. I was 10, hitting a rebellious streak, and had decided to rope Scott and Isaac into covering one of the public works buildings with graffiti. Immediately we were caught and brought to the President (who is technically the one responsible for all of us) for a stern talking to. She was going to put all three of us on lockdown when I protested that it wasn't fair to Scott and Isaac, because they were only going along with it because of me. In the end, I was the only one punished.

When we arrived back to my home (yes, even at 10 I had my own house), I stalked to my room and slammed the door, angry and frustrated to the point of tears. The President hadn't just commuted Scott's and Isaac's lockdown punishments, she'd added them to mine. I was looking at six months of what essentially amounted to house arrest.

After an hour, Derek knocked on my door. Despite me shouting "Go away!" he entered, holding two bowls of ice cream. He handed one to me and sat beside me on the bed.

"What's this for?" I asked, doing my best to keep my voice from showing him that I'd been crying… and failing entirely.

"What you did back there was brave. You could have let your friends take the fall for you, but you didn't. I think you deserve to be rewarded for that," he said. He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me a bit, in a sort of comforting big brother way.

Then last year, after my first "mandatory copulation session" with Scott, I was in a bad place mentally. With a name like "mandatory copulation session" you already know that it's going to be a barrel of fun. Insert eye roll here. Scott had been my best friend my whole life. He was the one person I could tell everything to… no matter what. Suddenly our relationship was forced to change irreversibly "for the cause." Whenever one of us objects to something, that's always their go-to.

"It's for the cause." As if there isn't enough fucking pressure on us. We're literally trying to save the species.

For this particular copping session, I was supposed to be the receptive partner. Scott didn't look at me as I felt him slide into me. I didn't blame him, though. It was degrading and dehumanizing for us both. Our friendship simply wasn't the same after. It wasn't that Scott was my first, because he wasn't… Isaac's chaperone, Jordan was, since he is still considered viable… it's that it was Scott. Suddenly there was this thing that existed between us that neither of us had wanted, but we did it… For the cause.

I'd come back to my Brick afterwards (it's what we call our houses, since they're made from… you guessed it… brick) and was nearly catatonic. Derek knew instantly that something was off and he knew what it was.

"Stiles," he began softly. "I know that you have a lot going through your mind right now and that you probably want some alone time… but I figured you might also want some advice. I'm here to help you through this stuff."

"They ruin everything," I replied, somewhat melodramatically. "They ruined the only good thing I have and I'm not even allowed to be mad at them for it because it's what we were created to do!"

I was turned away from him, but I could see his shadow against the wall I was facing. He reached out to try and comfort me by rubbing my back, but stopped. He realized that the last thing I wanted was to be touched. By anyone.

"What happens in that lab doesn't have to affect your relationships outside of it. Your relationships outside of that are integral to making what goes on inside that lab bearable," Derek said.

"You're still considered viable, Derek, eventually we're going to get a schedule delivered to us that has you and me in a copping session. When that happens, I'll have literally fucked every person I've grown up with," Stiles said. "When that happens, I'm going to lose my fucking mind."

He simply said, "I promise you that it will never happen." He got up, exited the room, and left me alone. In the year and a half since that conversation, it hasn't. I wonder if he actually spoke to the President and demanded that we not be paired together like that, but I haven't wanted to ask him, for fear that acknowledging it would somehow suddenly cause us to have to cop together.

So when I describe his usual gruff mannerisms, try to keep that in the context of the fact that he's actually a good guy. He just doesn't express it often.

After drying off, I pull on an outfit that he set out for me and slip into some shoes. My hair is messy, but usually, if one of us forgets to do our hair, for three weeks afterwards, everyone else starts doing their hair like this as if it's a trend. It's been a while, so I decide it's time to fuck with everyone again.

Derek is tapping his foot impatiently on the marble floor. It echoes through my minimalist-decorated house. My room may be cluttered, but the rest of the house isn't. I don't want other people feeling welcome here. It might give them the idea that I want their company, which would be an incorrect assumption.

"The driver is outside waiting for us. Everyone else has left already," he says.

I flash a smile. "So what I hear you saying is that I'm going to get to make an entrance."

"Maybe we should get your hearing checked," he quips.

The car ride is silent, but fast. With so few people on the planet now, there's not a lot of traffic. We make it to the President's residential palace within the course of a few minutes. I look at my ID bracelet, which has a small digital watch built into it. We're right on time, which to Derek, is an hour and a half late and to me is an hour and a half early. I hate these events.

There's a mall red carpet with throngs of older people snapping photos of us like we're celebrities. Once inside the residence, we're guided toward a long formal dining room. Name cards tell us where we are intended to sit. It's been like that for a few years now, ever since I decided to sit at the head of the table during a visit from the leaders of Canada and Mexico.

To my right is Jordan and to my left is Derek. Apparently I need to be flanked on both sides by Chaperones. Before anyone notices, I swap Derek's and my name card, putting me next to Isaac. I know I'll probably get in trouble, but in this moment, I don't care. I already don't want to be here, at least let me sit next to someone I can enjoy conversation with.

Isaac gives me a knowing look as I sit down. It's clear he's already seen who was supposed to sit by him.

Dinner begins and I intentionally ignore the President as she begins her speech about celebrating the momentous breakthroughs we're achieving. She proposes a toast and everyone lifts their glass except me. I hold out until Derek elbows me hard in the rib. A symphony of clinking glasses later, wait staff are bringing food to the table. They must be new because none of us have ever seen them before, which is saying something… because there haven't been any  _new people_  since the eight of us were born.

The waiter setting a plate down in front of Lydia lets his eyes linger on her too long. She catches the glance and taps her pointed claw-like nails on the table, ready to pounce. "Can you take this away?" she asks, referring to the plate he had just set down. "Have the chef remake the dish without mushrooms."

The waiter is obviously confused. "It's a mushroom bisque, madam."

Lydia is unaffected, if anything her resolve has strengthened. "And I'm telling you that I want it gone. I'm not really in the mood for mushrooms today."

The Chaps aren't paying attention; they're talking to the President about something. The remaining seven of us, however, are laser focused in.

"It's a pity," the waiter says. He's young enough to maybe be 3 gens ahead of us. He's reasonably attractive but in comparison to Jackson or Derek, nothing to really look twice at. "I had a mushroom I was hoping you'd be interested in."

My eyes widen. It's clear that Scott and Allison didn't hear him from their seats across the table, but Isaac and I fight to hold in laughter as Lydia's eyes flash dangerously.

"By that, do you mean that it's soft, small, and unsatisfying?" she replies without missing a beat. The waiter clearly wasn't expecting her response and flushes a shade of red that I'm not sure I've ever seen in nature before. All of us are staring at her. She looks around. "What?"

"Nothing," we all say and immediately divert our attention to the meal.

* * *

Derek

I hate these little parties. They're a waste of time and a waste of energy. I try to be simultaneously engrossed in all conversations at the table, and yet none of them at all.

After the meal is over and everyone is in the salon, making small talk, the President taps me on the shoulder. I spin to greet her. "Madam President," I say respectfully, crossing my hands behind my back.

"Derek, I need to have a word with you privately," she says, and turns. We walk through a maze of hallways and rooms until we're secluded enough for her comfort. We're in the library of her mansion. A fire is burning in the fireplace and the room would actually be warm, if it weren't for her presence.

"Is something the matter?" I ask after an uncomfortable length of silence.

"How are things between you and Stiles?" she asks, not answering me.

"They're fine," I reply. "Nothing's really changed for better or for worse."

She motions for me to take a seat in an overstuffed chair beside the mantle and she takes the one opposite me. The smile on her face is only there for show. There's no glimmer of it in her eyes and the way the fire is reflecting off the lines of her face, I find myself actually worried.

"Nearly two years ago, you came to me with a request and against my better judgement, I honored it. I regretfully can no longer continue to do so," she says.

I feel the wind knocked out of me as I process what she's saying, but I try my best to keep my reaction from showing on my face. "Why now?" I ask.

"We're nearly two years into the program and we haven't had anything remotely resembling a success. Your numbers are high for someone your age and Stiles' numbers are through the roof. I can no longer justify keeping you two from pairing off. In fact, the best research we have shows that you two have the highest odds of a success if we catch Stiles in the most fertile part of his cycle," she says.

My mind is racing. I don't even know how to process what I'm hearing.

"When will that be?" I ask, hoping that I'll hear that I have a month to prepare both myself and him for this.

"Tomorrow," she replies, dashing that hope to shreds.

"Madam President, if I may," I begin, not waiting for her to agree to let me speak openly. "Stiles is the most…" I choose my words carefully. "Sensitive of the boys in his gen. He's also shown the most negative psychological reactions to the whole copping process. You saw what happened after he had to cop with Scott the first time."

"You're worried what this would do to him," she says. "And I respect that. It's what makes you a good Chaperone. However, we can't afford to miss this opportunity. What's at stake is too important and we have too much lost time already by me respecting his wishes on this. Besides, it isn't his decision to make."

"Shouldn't it be?" I demand, rising to my feet. "I've helped raise him. I've bandaged him when he hurt himself. He's cried on my shoulder more times than I can even count. He trusts me. This is going to shatter him!"

"He has a purpose!" she counters, rising to meet me. "He was born for one reason only. If he doesn't understand the importance of what we're attempting here, then maybe you haven't done as good of a job as I thought. Maybe I should reassign you. Either way, it does not change my decision! You and Stiles will have mandatory copulation sessions this entire week. He can either present himself and actively participate, or I can have him strapped down, drugged, and unconscious… but it will not change the end result, which is that you will copulate with Stiles."

I don't even notice that I've taken a step back until my calves bump into the chair. She's willing to drug Stiles and have me fuck him while he's unconscious. I feel bile rising in my throat as I remember what it was like when I first had a session with my chap. I remember the feelings of helplessness and loss as I tried not to cry. I remember how traumatic the entire experience was and I once again feel helpless and lost.

I'm not sure how to even bring it up to Stiles.

"Your first session is tomorrow at 8:30 AM. If you're both not on time, I'll be forced to assume that Stiles isn't being compliant at which point, I'll need to take more drastic measures. Am I understood?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply simply before leaving without waiting to be excused. I feel the rage vibrating off of me.

Stiles thinks of me as a hardass or a killjoy and I'm okay with that because at the end of the day, I know he also still thinks of me as someone he can come to when shit hits the fan, someone who will tell him the honest truth when he needs to hear it most, and someone who cares about his wellbeing as a person on this earth, not just as humanity's last hope for a future.

I don't honestly know that I can bear watching him look at me and seeing anything else.

When I rejoin the rest of the group, I immediately find Stiles and tap him on the shoulder. "Hey, we need to get back home," I say. There's no evidence of the conversation I just had with the President on my face or in my voice. "You've got an early cop session in the morning and we need to be on time."

"Really?" he asks incredulously. "With who?"

"Jackson," I lie. "The President just showed me some numbers and you're both at your peak right now."

"Oh," he replies numbly. "Alright."

I guide him back to the car and we ride home in silence. As soon as we get inside and I greet the guards, I follow him to his room. He's already stripped down to is boxers, his clothing leaving a trail through the house. He's in bed with the covers up to his neck.

"What?" he asks as I sit at the foot of his bed.

I try to summon the courage to tell him the truth, but I can't. I know it's going to hurt him even more if I don't tell him, but I can't do it. I can't steal a night of restful sleep from him when I know he'll have so few to look forward to after tomorrow.

"I just want you to know that no matter what happens, I care about you and every decision I've ever made since becoming your Chaperone has been to protect you from the worst this world has to offer," I say cryptically.

"Noted," he replies, a confused look muddying his face. "Are you being reassigned?"

I shake my head. "No. I just know that things have been tense between us recently and I've been riding you kind of hard—" Worst possible choice of words! I'm furious with myself for not getting this right, "lately and that it's only because…" I can't say the words that would accurately finish that sentence.

"I'm sorry," he replies immediately, catching me off guard. I don't want him to apologize to me. If anything, I should be apologizing to him.

"For what?"

"For whatever I did that the President made you answer for tonight," he said earnestly.

I smile. "Oh it wasn't about anything you did. We were just going over some scheduling stuff. But I've kept you long enough. Sleep well. I've got the alarm set already and I'll have coffee waiting for you when you wake up."

I get up and head to the door, drinking in the very last time he'll look at me without hating me. "Goodnight, Derek," he calls after me.

"Goodnight," I reply.

I don't sleep much that night. It's not a departure from the usual, but it's for a different reason, certainly. When it's time for us to leave, Stiles is ready. I say a quiet, thankful prayer. I don't know that I'd be able to stomach him being tied up and drugged out of his mind while we try and cop. I also don't know that I'll be able to stomach the look of hurt and pain I'll receive when I walk into the lab instead of Jackson.

The ride to the lab is quick and familiar to us both. We scan our ID bracelets and the turnstiles let us through. We part ways at our usual spot, only this time, instead of doing trainings and catching up on paperwork, I'll go through the pre-cop physical just like him. I'm used to it, and it doesn't bother me as much as it bothers him. It's invasive, certainly, but so is everything about our lives.

Since I'm intended to be the penetrative partner, they give me a shot to make sure I can perform when the time comes. I know that I wouldn't be able to without it. I strip naked and wrap a towel around my waist, as is customary when entering the lab.

The schedule has us going three rounds a day, every single day this week. They must really think that me and Stiles are going to be successful, since it's more than I've ever seen before in one week in all my life.

I can see from the two-way mirror that Stiles is already on the pristine white bed with his legs spread open. He's watching the door, waiting for Jackson. I feel my stomach tightening as I reach for the door handle and twist it.

I pull the door open and walk in. He's confused. Then his eyes widen as he realizes what my presence means. Immediately he starts trying to cover himself up.

"Derek no…" he pleads. His voice is small and cracking on just those two simple words. "Not you… anyone but you. Please!"

I don't say anything until I'm on the bed beside him. "Stiles, I'm so sorry. Please remember what I told you last night."

He's smart. He understands what I mean and he stops trying to pull away. Instead his body goes somewhat limp as he spreads his legs. I move in between them and throw the towel onto the floor. I can't look at him as I enter him. I do everything I can to make it feel good for him. He squeezes his eyes shut and a tear rolls down his cheek. I know he's in pain, but whether it's physical or emotional, I can't tell.

I continue to power through the onslaught of emotions I'm feeling until I finish. When copping with other men, we're required to stay inside him until the doctors give us the greenlight, in order to ensure that the seed has ample opportunity to catch. As soon as the greenlight is given, I pull out and wrap myself in a towel.

Stiles darts out of the room and I follow him.

"Stiles!" I call after him as he stops midway down a brightly lit hallway and collapses against the wall.

"I don't want to talk to you," he manages to say between sobs.

Normally I would chastise him for being petulant, but I can't bring myself to do it because I know  _exactly_ what he feels right now. "I shouldn't have lied to you," I say softly.

"If you think this is about you lying to me, you're more clueless than I thought," he snaps.

* * *

Stiles

I'm so angry and hurt that part of me wants Derek to leave to mitigate the chance of me hurting him. "You promised me we wouldn't ever go through this and now…"

"Stiles, I tried. I really did. Victoria threatened to do something much worse if you didn't go along with it and I… I couldn't let them do that to you," he says. I'm curious to know what the alternative was.

"You were the one person I had, Der," I say, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand. "We can't go back to having not done this."

"What happens in that room," he replies, "doesn't need to affect what happens out here."

His answer enrages me and I don't even remember climbing to my feet. My face and ears feel hot and I can see my reflection in a window. I barely recognize myself. "Now you will never not have fucked me!" I say.

Then he says something I don't expect.

"We have the best odds of a success. Out of all possible permutations of viable couplings, our chances seem to be the highest. I know that you don't always care about the cause, but I think you would be an amazing parent. You and I can save humanity together," he's staring earnestly into my eyes. His giant green ones are bright and big. I know that he's always wanted to become a father, which is why he's always been so strict with me. "The only way we can do that is by… fucking. And it doesn't have to be just fucking. Tell me what you want from me and I'll do it."

Now I'm forced to face a truth that I've never wanted to admit, but I'm staring it down. The reason I didn't want to cop with Derek is that from the very first moment I ever saw him, I was in love with him. With him as my Chaperone, it required him to care about me.

I don't want it to be just a chance at reproducing and saving the species. Fuck the species for all I care. I want him to  _make love_ to me. I want sweaty nights of no sleep and pillow talk. I want kisses that trail so I feel his scruffy beard in novel places. I want to be able to scream his name when I climax… hell… I want to climax from it!

I want him to touch me in a way that I can't be touched in that room and if he and I are going to have a kid together, I don't want it to be in front of a group of scientists watching from behind glass. I want it to be a moment between just us… where  _we_  are the only ones who experience it.

But I can't have that. I want all or nothing and I know it sounds selfish and you're probably saying something like "Stiles… you were born to save the human race." But the truth is… I don't know you. I'm just recording my thoughts in the hopes that one day… some alien species might find them and know that I was here…. That I existed. That I mattered. The rest of this can fall to ashes and dust. I honestly don't care about the money they throw at us or the fame. I don't care that my name is plastered on every tabloid or that as long as I'm viable, every whim of mine can and will be catered to.

I want a normal relationship with the guy of my dreams and without the pressure of saving the species or I want nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, no characters listed in this story are actually related, even if they are in canon. There are mentions of past Derek/Peter and past Stiles/Scott in this chapter.

Stiles

Seriously… fuck this week. Each day is worse than the one before it. When I think I've reached peak emotional trauma, President Argent finds another way to twist the knife. I've taken to secluding myself whenever possible. I need to be away from Derek. The ride back to our Brick is silent. From the corner of my eye, I can see him open his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then he doesn't. I'm not sure if it hurts worse that he doesn't.

When we pull up, Scott and his bodyguard are waiting for me at the door. He smiles politely at Derek, who tips his head in acknowledgement before entering the house. "How are you holding up?" he asks.

I glare at him as if it's the stupidest thing he's ever said… because it is.

"They're worried about you, Stiles," he says in a low, hushed voice. He grabs my arm and pulls me inside, dragging me to my room. It's the only way we can have any privacy because the bodyguards won't follow us in there. "I overheard some of the doctors talking about you today. They're saying that they might end up putting you through some kind of psych eval and if you don't pass… they'll label you as 'Conditionally Non-Viable.' You know what that means…"

There's an earnest fear in his eyes that tells me he's being truthful. Scott has a very hard time lying. He wears everything on his face. The disgust he feels at the label of "Conditionally Non-Viable" is also evident. It's one of the most brutal practices that can be levied against one of us and it's something that we all fear. Being labeled as just plain Non-Viable is one thing… sure, you might lose the income and fame that comes with being one of the final members of the human race capable of procreating, but you'll get assigned a different job and you'll get to fuck who you want when you want.

Being labeled "Conditionally Non-Viable" reduces you to something less than human. It means you're viable, but only if you're zonked out on medication… or in more extreme circumstances, are placed into a permanent catatonic state. At that point, you're repeatedly inseminated or milked for your semen to be used on others. They might use you as a husk in which to grow embryos… It's sick. And the fact that Victoria wants to do that to me pisses me off.

"She's a fucking monster," I growl as I fall back onto my bed.

Silence passes between us for a few moments before he asks, "Is having sex with him or with me really so bad?"

I want to bury my face in a pillow and scream. "You don't get it," I reply simply, because it's clear that he doesn't.

"But I want to, Stiles. Help me to understand," he says. "The last time you were this depressed was when you and I first copped and I'm not going to lie… it really hurt my feelings then, just as I'm sure it's hurting Derek's now."

"That's not what it's about, Scott. You were my best friend in the world… the person to whom I told all of my secrets and hopes and desires and they made me get on a table naked and spread my legs so you could fuck me," I tell him. "They forced us to change our friendship… to bring it to a place I didn't want it to go."

"It's why they made us, though. It's our job to try to procreate… to try and save our species."

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE SPECIES!" I explode, much louder than I intended. The sudden outburst startles him and he stares at me with wide, surprised eyes. I take several deep breaths and try to contain myself. "I gave a fuck about you… and I gave a fuck about Derek. They ruined it."

Scott exhales deeply as he stares at me. "Why not tell Derek how you feel?" he asks.

"Because he won't feel the same way about me. He'll do the thing he's supposed to do… which is make me feel better about it. But it won't mean to him what it means to me and…" I find myself rambling, unable to correct my train of thought to keep it from oscillating wildly between outright depressive nihilism and full-blown righteous fury. I know I have to try and keep my composure if I don't want a guard to burst inside… or report my behavior to the President. "I'm not willing to let this situation get any more fucked up than it has to."

Scott sighs and shakes his head. "Stiles, don't you see that you're not giving Derek a choice in this matter. For all any of us know, he  _might_  feel the same way and he deserves to know that." I'm really annoyed at Scott for being right. "What if I talk to him?" he offers. "I'll slip it into casual conversation and try to get a read on him and let you know what he says."

I bite the inside of my cheek nervously. It's a solid plan and at first glance, I can't seem to find a reason to dismiss it. I give one quick nod of my head to let him know that I'll allow it for now. Scott thrusts his arm into the air triumphantly before gathering himself to leave.

I walk him out to the door and lock it behind him, paying no mind to the security guards posted outside. It isn't until I head back to my room that I notice Derek is sitting on the couch, wearing just a pair of loose-fitting pajama bottoms. It wasn't uncommon before our cop sessions for me to see him shirtless, but it feels different now. I know what's under his pajama bottoms because I've had it physically inside of me every single day this week.

I don't say anything to him. Instead, I pass through the living room into the kitchen and pull out a bottle of water from the cabinet. Derek has always picked on me for not drinking cold water, preferring it room temperature. I half-expect him to make one of his quips but he remains silent. I am lost as to what to read into that silence or whether or not I should read anything at all and once again grow frustrated with the position that the President has put us in.

Derek doesn't let the silence last too much longer, however. "Stiles, can we talk?"

"About what?" I ask defensively.

"Us," he replies. I waver on whether or not to wall-up and say "No" but then I catch the look in his eyes. He's upset.

"O-okay," I stutter, making my way to a chair opposite his spot on the couch.

He takes a deep breath before continuing to speak. "I'm worried about you, Stiles. Victoria is too and her suggestion for dealing with this is to reassign me and give you a new Chaperone."

I don't remember rising to my feet, but I do as I shout, "No! She can't do that!"

"She can," Derek corrects. "And she intends to if you don't improve."

"Who would they give me?" I ask.

"My old Chaperone, Peter."

"I don't want another chaperone!" I blurt out. "I want you." There is so much truth in those last three words that saying them nearly makes me physically hurt."

"But how do you want me, Stiles? Do you want me as your Chaperone? As something else?" he asks. "Because I've never seen you more depressed and anxious as you've been this week and unless the blood test they did on you today comes back with a success, we have another week of sessions ahead of us."

Another. Fucking. Week. I start to tremble. Another week of lying on a bed in a sterile room with doctors watching Derek and me try to make a child together.

* * *

Derek

I study his reaction to the news. He's not taking it well.

I understand too well his emotions. It's something that I begged to keep under wraps, but I think that now it's time for him to learn. "Stiles, I know what you're going through right now," I tell him.

He glares at me murderously. "No you don't!"

"Yes," I insist. "I do. Wait right here."

I retreat into my room momentarily and grab a binder laying on my bed. I had recently pulled it out of a storage box in case this conversation ever needed to happen. When I come back into the living room, I open it to a large photo of me and my chaperone kissing and hand it to him before returning to my seat.

The look on his face tells me he understands exactly what he's looking at.

"My Chap and I were very close. I called him "Uncle Peter" because he basically raised me and I looked up to him. I loved him. I didn't take well to having to cop with him." I motion for him to flip through the binder and he does, hesitantly. "He and I were paired together for my first copping session. I still remember having his scent on me, even after I showered and how awful I felt about it. I sort of went off the deep end for a bit and was nearly labeled Conditionally Non-Viable. Peter fought for me to keep my present designation and he and I started having sex outside of the lab. It made sex in the lab a lot easier… and we ultimately had a success." I feel a knot forming in my chest as I relive this part of my life.

"Someone in the government leaked the information to a member of The Void and they attacked," I continue. "Peter was badly injured trying to save my life. The stress of it all caused me to miscarry and Peter's injuries left him Non-Viable. We couldn't try again. I ended up having a success with a girl in my gen named Paige, but the baby was stillborn and she died in childbirth. Peter and I tried to remain a couple, but we couldn't. We were both in too much pain. We broke up and he was reassigned."

Stiles continues to study the photos. "I'm sorry you went through all of that," he says softly.

"For a long time, so was I," I tell him. "But I learned a lot about myself during that time and yeah, it sucks that I went through it, but I did it and I survived. I became your Chaperone."

"But what are you saying?" he asks earnestly.

I feel all kinds of gross for what I've prepared myself to do. It's true that I care about Stiles a great deal, but I'm not  _in love_  with him. However, I'm not in love with anyone else, so if it'll help him to think of me in that way, then I owe it to him to give him the comfort he needs.

I move back to my feet and close the distance between us. Slowly and hesitantly, I let my lips brush his. He's caught off-guard and his instinct is to retreat, but I press forward, planting my lips on his. I marvel at their softness as I feel them open slightly. I take it as an invitation to allow my tongue to venture into his. He moves the binder aside then wraps one arm around my neck, places his other hand against my cheek as he leans into the kiss. There's a desperation coming off of him that tells me that this is something he has needed for a very long time. It makes me feel worse for lying to him about it, but I tell myself that this is for the best.

He escalates things further. His hands are now roaming down my body, feeling my neck, my shoulders, my chest, my arms, my sides, my back… my ass.

Despite how he's felt his entire life, Stiles is attractive. He's always leaned toward the "skinny" side, but I think he still sees himself as the beanpole he was at the age of 10. I don't think he notices the muscle he's actually put on in the intervening 7 years.

I let his hands and his mouth explore my body freely. We both stand before moving to my bedroom, where he pushes me back onto the bed and slowly works the pajama pants off of me, leaving me naked. From all of the kissing and touching, I have the stirrings of an erection. Stiles bites my bottom lip before trailing kisses down my jaw, neck, chest, abs, and finally, my cock.

His mouth is wet and warm and soft. His tongue laps around the head as his hand moves up and down the base. His other hand is massaging the skin between my balls and my asshole until I feel a finger slip inside me. "Oh fuck!" I moan at the unexpected intrusion. It feels great and for a moment, I lose myself.

"Let me return the favor," I grunt as I pull him off of my length and work to replicate the pleasure he had just been giving me.

I smile inwardly as he rakes his fingers against my sheets and moans my name. I feel a hand run through my thick hair and his hips buck against my mouth. I'm glad I'm able to make him feel good. I continue pleasuring him until he pulls me off and whispers, "Fuck me, Derek… please…"

"Not yet," I tell him as I lift his legs, resting them on my shoulders. I lower my head back down, this time pressing my mouth to his opening. Slowly my tongue flits inside. Stiles moans some things I can't quite make out, but understand to mean "Keep going." I continue to fuck him with my tongue, savoring the taste of him until I can no longer restrain myself. I reach for my night stand and grab the lube. I rub it into him and on myself before lining myself up. I stair into his big, liquid brown eyes as I push inside. He gasps and bites his lip a little. "Am I hurting you?" I ask softly.

He shakes his head and arcs his back as I ease further in. It's like being inside a velvet vice as he grips me. It's so soft and hot inside him. I forget for a moment why I'm doing this and am able to bask in the pleasure of it as well. This is the first time in a  _very_  long time I've had sex without an audience of scientists. To my knowledge, it's the first time for him. I want to make it good for him, like Peter did for me.

I reach down and stroke him once I've managed to get my entire length inside him. I can't believe how tightly he's gripping me. I stagger the strokes of my hand and thrusts of my hips and suddenly I'm playing his body like a musical instrument, eliciting grunts and moans and screams of pleasure until I can no longer hold back. I erupt inside him with a roar of my own and lean down to kiss him. He greets the kiss with the same pent-up hunger that his hands explored me before.

In this moment, I know that what I'm doing is the right thing for him and am hopeful that if he ever learns the truth, he'll eventually forgive me.

* * *

Stiles

I wake up in his bed, which is the only way I know that it wasn't a dream. We had sex four times last night and now, his arm is around my waist as he continues to sleep. This feels…  _right_.

I watch as he sleeps peacefully. Normally he's an early riser, but I can forgive him for needing extra rest after our night last night. It's the weekend, anyway. I snuggle in closer to his warm body and doze off once more, waking a few hours later when he finally gets out of bed.

I hear the shower come on and suddenly a burst of anxiety runs through me. The night before starts replaying in my head as I realize that despite everything he told me, he never actually told me what our sex was all about. When I asked, he kissed me. I bolt from the bed to see him, partially obscured by the frosted pattern of the glass and slowly open the door to join him. I'm used to his naked form by this point, but I can't fight the rush of excitement I feel when I see it.

"Derek," I say softly as he rinses shampoo from his hair. "Did last night mean what I think it meant?"

He finishes washing away the suds before pulling me in for a kiss. I love the way it tastes, but it's not an answer. I need to hear the answer. I fight every instinct in my body and pull away from him.

"I need an answer, Derek," I press. "When we had sex last night, did it mean to you what I hope it did?"

"Stiles, I didn't have sex with you last night," he replies. Suddenly I'm questioning everything from the reason I woke up in his bed, to the kiss he just gave me… my entire grip on reality, even. He must see the confusion and fear in my face as he scrambles to finish his thought. "I made love to you."

At that, I throw my arms back around him and let him resume kissing me for several long minutes as the hot water rains down on us. I'm rock hard as my body presses against his. I don't know how I could possibly be horny again, but I am. It's my every dream come true and I don't know how to properly understand what it all means for me.

"Does this mean that we're…" I start, trying to search for the word that's least likely to scare him off.

"Boyfriends?" he offers. I consider it for a moment before nodding. He smiles and nods too.

I want to tell him how much I love him… how much I've  _always_  loved him, but I contain myself to just one more kiss, stolen from his lips. We finish the shower together, washing each other's increasingly familiar bodies.

The rest of the day is spent in each other's company. He reads a little while I watch an old movie. Then we eat together, followed by a card game, and more sex. We are interrupted for only a few minutes in the afternoon while one of the medical staff members takes a sample of blood from me. As soon as he's gone, it's back to lying naked in each other's arms in his bed. I can't wait to talk to Scott, but at the same time, I want for there to be a little bit of time where only Derek and I know.

"Derek?" I say, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

"Yeah?" he replies, his voice low and husky.

"Can we not tell anyone about us… or this weekend?" I say. "At least for a few weeks?"

"Are you ashamed of me?" he teases.

I know he's joking, but I feel the need to earnestly protest. "Not at all! I'm glad that we made this step… I just want to be able to enjoy you… enjoy  _us_  for a little while before people start putting a spotlight on us. Once it gets out, it's out of our control and other people are going to weigh in on it. I'm not ready for that yet."

Derek pulls me close to him and kisses me once more. "We can take as long as you need."

* * *

Derek

I leave in the very early hours of the morning. Stiles asks if I want him to come with me, but he's still half-asleep. I kiss him and assure him it's boring Chaperone stuff and I'll be home to see him soon. That seems to work and he drifts back to sleep, clutching my pillow to his chest. One of the guards has already called a car, which is waiting out front. The drive to the Presidential Palace is a fast one and I scan my ID bracelet, waiting for the chime that says I'm permitted entry.

As soon as the chime sounds, the gruff-looking guard protecting the President's home steps aside to allow me through. Victoria has always been an early riser, so it doesn't surprise me to see that she's sitting at her dining room table with a half-eaten scone and a cup of coffee as she thumbs through several file folders.

"Good morning," she says, though the way it sounds coming out of her face is more like a curse than a greeting.

"You wanted to see me?" I say, not bothering to return the half-hearted greeting.

"I was just looking through some of the latest psych evals for your charge and…" she makes a repeated  _tsk_  sound. "I'm not liking what I'm seeing." She passes the folder to me and I look through the remarks left by the doctor. "At this point, I'm not sure what to do, Derek. I've tried to avoid labeling him as Conditionally Non-Viable… but the results here seem to speak for themselves."

I take a deep breath. "I figured out a way to mitigate this issue," I tell her. "Stiles' concern is the fact that we were having sex solely for the purposes of copulation. To help him deal with the stressors, I have decided to give him the emotional connection to me that he's craving by making him think that I return the feelings he's harbored for me and that he and I are, in fact, boyfriends."

She stares at me in shock, silent for several long minutes. "What if he discovers the truth?"

I shake my head. "For now, you and I are the only two people who know the true nature of my relationship with Stiles. His psych evals should improve and as a result, we'll be having a lot more sex, hopefully increasing the odds of a success. The way I see it, it's much more advantageous for you to help me keep this secret than to out it."

She sits back, seeming impressed. "I don't mind helping to keep the secret, Derek. I must say, however, that I find this to be extraordinarily cold… and that's  _me_  talking. I also wonder how long you're prepared to continue this charade?"

"As long as it takes," I reply.

She hands me another file. "It might end up being a very long time."

I open the file folder and am looking at a lab result test. I don't know enough about the numbers to understand what exactly it is that she wants me to see. "What is this?" I ask.

"It's a little too soon to tell," she begins. But the blood sample that we took from Stiles seems to be showing the initial signs of a success. We'll need to monitor it a little more closely, and I want you to keep trying with him—procreative activities only—for the next few days and we'll run more tests… but I think we may be able to make the announcement by the end of this week that you and Stiles will be fathers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you thought! I love reading comments and they really help to spur my muse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, no characters who are related in Canon are related here.
> 
> This chapter contains explicit Peter/Derek and also Derek/Stiles. It also contains explicit mention of prescription drug abuse and deals with themes of losing a loved one and infidelity.

Derek

My ride back to Stiles' Brick is silent as I try to organize my thoughts. For the third time in my life, I've been told that I might be a father. This timeline feels like it's moving way too fast. I remind myself that thanks to my not-so-small lie, Stiles thinks I'm in love with him… that I'm his boyfriend. And it's true that I care about him… I've basically helped raise him for the last seven years. But I'm not in love with him.

I find myself imagining what it would be like to parent a child with him. None of us exactly have any examples of good parenting. All of us were raised by the government. We've never actually seen a parent and their child interact before. When my child with Paige was born, I got to hold her, but she was already dead. Her skin was blue. Since Paige was dead, I had no one to share my grief with. I wasn't allowed to formally name her, but in my head, she was called Talia. I wept more for her than I did for my own miscarriage. I had actually gotten to see Talia… to hold her tiny, lifeless body. I watched her buried with Paige.

Only Peter stood beside me at the funeral. He put his arm around me and I remember crying into his chest. The burial was symbolic to him too, I guess. I remember how he kissed me at the end of it and how my chest fluttered. I remember the ensuing panic attack that it caused because I wanted him  _so badly_.

I feel that same surge of want boil up inside me as the car turns down the road to the Bricks. "I know we're almost there… but do you mind taking me somewhere else first?' I ask the driver, who shrugs.

I pull out my tablet device and bring it to life with my fingerprint. After a few taps, I'm able to send the coordinates to the car's GPS system and the driver turns the car around. The drive is long but I enjoy the silence. When we arrive at the plain two-story house at the edge of the city, my breath catches in my chest. I thank the driver as I climb out.

"Do you want me to stay here or…" The driver asks, letting the unfinished question hang in the air.

"I don't know how long I'll be," I tell him. "So if you want to go, I'll use my device to let the car service know when I need to be picked up." I waive the device symbolically.

I wait until the driver pulls away to approach the door and knock. Nobody answers after several minutes. It takes that long for me to realize that I'm hearing something behind the house.

I step down off the porch and follow it around. Peter always loved his privacy. He built this house himself for us to live in, away from everything and everyone, to raise our children… when we thought that was something we would be able to do.

Once in the back yard, I'm able to see him at the edge of the property near a flat stump. A pile of fire wood is stacked up neatly as he keeps adding to it. I watch him for a few minutes, hoping he'll notice me. When he doesn't, I move forward. It isn't until I'm only a few yards away that I'm able to see just how much firewood he's got.

"Expecting a long winter?" I ask, making my presence known.

Peter doesn't look up, instead he just swings his axe. It lands dead-center of the log with a thud and then a crack as the log splits open. "Just a cold and lonely one," he replies, adding the two halves to the pile and picking up another, placing it on the stump. Another swing, thud, crack. Followed by another. And another. Finally he stops. "Why are you here?"

"Because I'm lost," I confess.

"That's what maps are for, not ex-boyfriends," he says, finally facing me.

"Peter, I—" I begin to say, not exactly sure how I intended to end that sentence. I end up not having to.

"Don't," he says, putting a staying hand up. "Just don't, Derek." He swings the axe again, this time allowing it to become lodged into the stump and he approaches me. His body is dripping with sweat. The sheen it provides his skin only emphasizes his muscles. I no longer have the self-control to stand back and I rapidly close the distance, my arms snaking around him, pulling him close as my lips press his. They open and his tongue is immediately in my mouth and mine in his. He squeezes me tightly and I feel centered again.

Our lips part, but I can't keep them off him. They trail his jaw line, his shoulder, chest. I'm sinking down as my tongue traces the line between his abs, tasting the salty sweat. Then I'm fumbling with his jeans. He stops me and pulls me back to my feet. "No," is all he says.

I stare into his eyes, feeling admonished, and then guilty. His beautiful blue eyes. I always wondered if our child would have inherited them. "I don't know what I'm doing," I admit. My voice cracks. His cold gaze softens as he hears it. He's the one person I've ever let myself be vulnerable around.

"Come inside," he offers and we head back toward the house. Once in the kitchen, he begins boiling a pot of water and grinds some coffee, dumping the grounds into the bottom of a French press. As soon as the water was at a boil, he took it off the stove and poured it into the press, setting a small timer to five minutes. I watch him work, setting out two coffee mugs, grabbing some cream from his fridge and rummaging through the cupboard for sugar. He sets them all on the kitchen table before finally plunging the press and bringing it over, too. He sits in the seat opposite of me and pours the coffee into the mug, leaving just the perfect amount of room for the cream and sugar to be added. I work at fixing my coffee to the way I like it and taking a sip. It's perfect.

He drinks his black and asks, "What's going on, Derek?"

"I did something… and now I don't know how to fix it," I say.

"Care to be more specific?"

"A couple of years ago, I asked the President not to pair me with my charge, Stiles. I thought that it would be detrimental to him. I was right. They decided to stop honoring my request and paired me with him and it nearly resulted in him being labeled as Conditionally Non-Viable," I begin. "So I took a page from your playbook and I told him that I loved him, so he could be more at-ease in our sessions."

"Do you?" he asks. "Love him, I mean."

"No," I reply quickly. "Not like that, at least."

"Then you didn't take it from my playbook. You lied to him about love and you manipulated him. That sounds a whole lot more like your playbook than mine. I never had to lie about that, Derek. What I feel for you…" he pauses as he realizes he used the present tense. "It's real."

"I never lied to you about loving you!" I shoot back.

Peter raises his eyebrow and takes a sip of coffee. "No, you're right. What you did was worse. You lied about not loving me. You made me think that there was no future for us."

"There wasn't, Peter!"

"Then what the fuck was that kiss?" he demands. "Why the fuck did I have to stop you from trying to blow me in the back yard?"

"That was a moment of weakness," I reply stiffly.

Again, his eyes narrow. "So that's what I am to you now? A weakness?"

I feel the lump rise in my throat. "You always were," I tell him. "After the attack, when they did the tests that showed you weren't viable anymore and I still was, they wanted me back in the copping lab within a few days. I wasn't ready. I told them I wasn't. They threatened you to make me do what they wanted. They knew I still loved you and so they put a sword over your head to make sure I would always do exactly what they wanted. Breaking up with you was the only way I could make sure you were safe. But you wouldn't have accepted my real reason behind it and don't try to lie and say you would have! The only way I was able to get you away from them and away from danger was by telling you that there was nothing left for us."

Peter is silent as he hears this for the first time. "You can't keep playing God with other people's feelings, Derek," he says. It's not overly chastising but it's not exactly warm, either. "If he hasn't already, that boy is going to fall in love with you and he's going to fall hard. Believe me, I know. You're easy to fall in love with and damn near impossible to get over."

"It gets more complicated, still," I sigh. "They think we've had a success."

I see the vein in his neck pulse as he takes in what I said.

"Which one of you are carrying?"

"He is," I reply. "Well… he might be. It's too soon to know conclusively but the President seems to think it's likely."

"A miracle man," he says as he takes another sip of coffee. "Three successes. I hope this one works out. For your sake."

"Thank you," I reply, knowing what he means by that. I don't know that I'll be able to weather another loss.

* * *

Stiles

When I finally wake up again, my hunger is the first thing I feel. I force myself out of Derek's bed and into the kitchen. I look around in the various cupboards and the pantry before finding some eggs in the refrigerator. I don't feel like cooking but my stomach gurgles again and I know that it's a necessary evil.

I decide to make scrambled eggs, thinking that they're easy and it's incredibly hard to fuck them up. I finally catch a glimpse of the clock and notice that it's past noon and realize that Derek's been gone for a long time… about seven hours now. I step away from the stove and out to the front door where a guard is standing watch.

"Do you know where Derek is?" I ask him.

He pulls out a tablet device and taps a few times. "He scanned his ID bracelet out of the President's palace at 6:03. The log shows that he had one of the drivers drop him off at a house near the edge of the city at 7:26."

"Don't you think it's a little strange that my Chaperone has been MIA since then?" I ask.

The guard shakes his head. "Not at all. He designated Jordan as your temp if you need something before he gets back. Despite what you entitled shits seem to think, the entire world doesn't revolve around you."

I make no secret of my displeasure at being spoken to like that, but reporting the guards for being mouthy doesn't do anything but make you end up with pissed off guards. Instead I roll my eyes and turn to go back into my Brick. The guard tipped his hat and added a sardonic, "It's been a pleasure."

I don't pass up the opportunity to say "The pleasure has been all yours," before disappearing back inside and resuming my cooking. It isn't too much longer until the eggs are done and I scrape them onto a plate, turn off the stove, and set the pan and spatula in the sink to be washed later. After finishing my breakfast, I head into my room to play video games until Derek returns. A few hours later, I hear a knock on my door. "Derek?" I call.

The door cracks open a bit. "No, it's me," Jordan says peeking out from behind it. "I'm not sure if you've been told, but I'm covering Chap duties for you temporarily, while Derek deals with something."

"Is he okay?" I ask, trying hard not to sound too desperate.

"He's fine," Jordan replies. "Just said he needed to get some fresh air."

"Well, if you want to get back to Isaac, I'll be fine here," I say, turning my attention back to my video game.

"He's painting right now. He prefers to be left alone when he's feeling artistic. Mind if I watch you play?" Jordan asks.

I shrug and he sits next to me on my bed. I press a button to resume the level I was on and sink my attention back into the game, distracting me from the overwhelming sense of foreboding I feel regarding Derek's disappearance.

Jordan stays mostly silent. Occasionally offering unsolicited advice for how to clear more challenging parts of the level. The rest of his time is spent tapping away on his device.

I lose track of time again until Jordan says "Derek just messaged me. He won't be back until after dinner. If you want to eat with me and Isaac, you're welcome to. I was going to my famous spaghetti and meat sauce!"

I purse my lips at the knowledge that Derek's going to be gone for still longer, but I accept Jordan's invitation. It's no secret that his spaghetti and meat sauce is one of my favorite dishes. He made it for me after the first time he and I had to cop as a way of apologizing for any undue emotional trauma.

He waits for me to get to a save spot and I turn of the game. "I need to shower real fast, but I can meet you over there when I'm done."

"Sounds great!" he says and smiles broadly. It strikes me how handsome he is. It makes me wonder if he and any of the other people in my gen have ever had sex for fun rather than just copulation.

Once he's gone, I peel off my pajama bottoms and boxers and turn on the shower. My skin still smells like Derek from sleeping in his bed. It makes me sad to wash the scent off my skin and replace it with soap, but the shower also makes me feel refreshed. I pull on jeans and a t-shirt when I get out, forgoing underwear. I reason that it'll mean fewer garments to pull off when Derek finally gets home.

I scan my ID bracelet as I exit the house and it locks behind me The guards posted outside of each Brick watch me carefully as I cross the road diagonally, heading over to Isaac's.

I scan my ID bracelet to get access and once inside, I'm greeted by the warm, comfortable décor Isaac chose. I'm the only one who decorated my house with the express intent of keeping people out of it. Isaac's walls are covered in his paintings—most of them are of us—and his furniture is soft and inviting. I see him in the solarium he had built on the back of his house, painting a nude of Jordan. How many times we've all had sex with each other, it's not surprising to me that he knows how Jordan looks naked by memory. I seem to be the only one who tries to forget it. He notices me walk in and waves excitedly. He's wearing dark-wash blue jeans, a gray t-shirt and plaid overshirt unbuttoned. He has a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. I suspect for the fashion statement, rather than to keep away cold weather. His wild, curly hair is what brings the look together.

I smile and wave back at him as he sets down his brush and enters the main part of the house to greet me. "Jordan said we'd be having a guest for dinner!"

He motions for me to follow him, leading me to his bedroom. Unlike mine, his is perfectly organized. Not so much as a pen is out of place. A row of pill bottles lines his desk. He thumbs through them as though trying to select the perfect book to read. "Ah," he says to himself. "This one should do nicely." He opens the bottle, shakes two tiny capsules into his palm and offers the bottle to me. "Care to try one?"

I pass. Last time I accepted a pill from Isaac, I ended up passing out and sleeping for 37 hours.

"Suit yourself," he says playfully, tossing the pills into his mouth and swallowing them dry. "That's the stuff…" he says as he feels them go down. He hands me the bottle and I immediately notice that his is not the name on it. "I paid a small fortune for these but so far they're my favorite. They give you great build to a nice smooth high without the hangover feeling afterwards." I notice he speaks about the pills like a sommelier would speak about wine. "And if you have a little wine about an hour in, they make the color purple seem super…" he moves his hands in an awkward-looking gesture. I don't know that I completely get what he's trying to say, but when he rhetorically asks, "Ya know?" I nod.

I hand the bottle back to him and he puts it back in its spot before letting his slender fingers dance across the tops to another one. He picks it up and tosses it to me. "I had sex on this one last week and it was the most mind-blowing orgasm I've ever had. I've already told my contact I want more of this." I see that the name on this prescription bottle is also not his, but doesn't match the other one, either. "If you ever want to try it, just say the word."

I nod again and hand the bottle back. He then takes me on a tour of a mock art installation he's been working on. "They're letting me do a gallery opening next month. I'm thinking of arranging them like this. The one of Jordan I'm working on is going to go here," he says, pointing to an empty spot. "What do you think?"

I can't help but to notice the striking amount of purple in the paintings. I see photos of all of us, a couple nude, but most of them are not. The only one I don't see is me. "They're gorgeous," I say honestly.

"I know there isn't one of you, but that's because I know how private you can be. I didn't want to paint you without your permission. I'd also like to do a nude of you, since it would match with Derek's," he said.

At that point, I realize the theme in the arrangement. Each one of my gen is painted in the same sort of style as their Chap. Isaac's self portrait is one of him reclined, his legs opened wide, revealing everything about himself to the world, just like Jordan's. Lydia's is elegant, with her in a couture dress and diamonds. Her chaperone, Jennifer is in the same finery.

Derek is nude, but shy about it, his portrait is almost playful in the way it seems to try to hide from the viewer.

"Yeah," I say. "You can paint me if you'd like."

"Great!" he says. "If you wanna pose after dinner, I can take a photo of you and then work from that."

I find myself nodding yet again as Jordan calls us from the kitchen, telling us that dinner is ready.

* * *

 Derek

Feeling Peter finish inside me, I lose count of how many times we've gone at it. I tense as I feel him biting playfully at my neck. "Peter, I can't go home with a hickey. Technically speaking, I've cheated on my boyfriend."

"Technically speaking, he's not really your boyfriend," he replies, but ultimately agrees to stop. Instead, he kisses me in the places he knows I love most.

I still feel him inside me because he hasn't pulled out yet. I want him to go again and again, but I know I have to leave soon. I also know that each time we have sex is a painful reminder to Peter of what we can never be again. I feel selfish for wanting it anyway. "Are you going to fuck him when you get home?" Peter asks.

I shrug. "I don't know. He's probably going to be pissed off that I disappeared all day with no warning."

Then he says something I don't expect. It catches me off guard. "Go home and fuck him hard, but do it still smelling like me. It's the only thing I ask of you."

"But why?" I ask, confused by the reason for his request.

"Because he deserves at least some hint of what you did today," Peter replies. I feel him start thrusting inside me again. "And I know you're not going to tell him the whole truth. You'll probably say that you met an old friend and had some conversation. It's not technically a lie." He thrusts hard and I moan. "You'll leave out the part where I sucked you dry and fucked you for twelve hours." His eyes sparkle. "Better yet… I have a plug I can give you… wear it home, but don't tell him that it's because you're holding me inside you. Let it be one last secret between us."

"He's a good guy," I tell him. "Truly, he is."

"I never said he wasn't," Peter replied, continuing to thrust. "Your victims always are."

That word jars me. I put my hand on his chest and push him up, away from me. "Victims?"

"The people who fall in love with you. You've never understood how magnetic you truly are, Derek. Get too close and you're stuck. But god forbid you turn, because you'll push them away just as hard," Peter says. "Nobody has ever chosen to fall in love with you, Derek. We've all just gotten so close that we couldn't pull away."

I feel a tightening in my chest as he keeps going, hitting that spot inside me perfectly each time. I bite my lip as he keeps going.

When we finally part ways, I watch the house fade behind me for as long as I can. The drive back to the brick is once more silent and the house is empty when I get there. I send a message to Jordan letting him know I've returned and he replies saying that Stiles is over at Isaac's and will be home shortly.

* * *

 Stiles

I'm pulling my clothes back on as Jordan walks in. "Derek is home," he says brightly.

Isaac puts down his camera after scrolling through the photos. "Impeccable timing. We just finished in here. Stiles, I think you might be the centerpiece. These photos are really good!"

I feel myself blushing at the attention. "Thanks, Isaac," I reply.

"I'm going to escort Stiles back to his place. I'll be right back," Jordan announces. I can't help but to notice that he has his gun on him this time.

After dark, we're not allowed outside by ourselves. We always have to have a Chaperone with us and they have to be carrying a weapon. It's a rule that was started because of Derek, actually. When he was attacked by the Void, his Chaperone, Peter, wasn't wearing his weapon at the time. The President thought that if Peter had his weapon, it was possible that the attack wouldn't have been nearly as bad. I had heard the story many times before, but didn't know it was Derek until he told me that he was the one who was attacked.

I gave Isaac a hug goodbye and followed Jordan diagonally across the street, scanning my ID bracelet out of Isaac's house and into mine.

"Safe and sound!" Jordan announces as Derek greets us in the living room. "Have a good night, you two!"

With that, Jordan scans himself out and heads back across the street. As soon as we're alone, I hug Derek tightly and kiss his neck, jaw, and lips. "I was worried about you," I tell him.

"I didn't mean to make you worry," he replies, kissing me back. "It was just really nice outside and I wanted to take a long run."

"Don't make me worry like that again!" I say, only half joking in my chastising tone.

"I plan to make it up to you," Derek says and I know instantly what he means. We tear off our clothes and soon, we're naked together.

"You smell different," I note.

"Probably just the sweat and stuff from the run," he says. I waste no time in getting him in my mouth, allowing my fingers to probe down to his opening, only to find that there's something there already—a plug.

I pull up off of him to ask, "What's this?"

He answers me with a devilish smile. "It feels good when I'm running," he says in a low, husky voice. The image of him having spent all day running with the plug inside him turns me on and I resume my work with my mouth in earnest. Soon, he's returning the favor and not too long after that, he's inside me and I'm scratching at his back and also at the sheets. We only go one round before he cuddles up next to me, still wearing the plug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Your comments are always great to read and they help me in my writing process. I'm also open to suggestions on where you think the plot should go or if there are any things you'd like to see happen in the plot.


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